


Torture's ever lasting kiss

by SlytherinPrince67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, and im depressed, eventual destiel, if anyone even reads this, it's my otp but this fic will be slow burning, so expect slow updates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-09 22:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10423053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinPrince67/pseuds/SlytherinPrince67
Summary: What if Dean Winchester had not been alone down in Hell, but there was another?Becky Moore is the girl who died trying to save her two siblings from a fire that her druggee mother started.They're so similar, soldiers willing to die for the siblings they love so dearly.Except, Becky has a secret she didn't plan on ever telling Dean.She's part demon, an anti-Christ, and they weren't breaking her soul.They were making it.





	

Her bright red hair, natural crimson, was the only spark of life left in her.

Her green eyes, once filled with life and passion, had turned dark and dull. She stood at attention, as Eros had commanded of her, and bore holes into the skin of the man who stood mere feet away from her.

She was pale, the sun kissed tan that the other kids at school had envied was long since gone. There was no sun in Hell, there was no light; there was just pain.

She was thin, had always been thin ever since she was a kid, and her almond shaped eyes squinted at his submissive form. There eyes met, but his were startling. They were bright, full of love and life, and she felt the cold, hard desire to rip it out of him. She wanted him to feel her pain, she wanted him to feel as lifeless and detached her. He was shaking, still bleeding from previous torture, and she wandered if Alistair even wanted him to win.

Perhaps he didn't, maybe he simple wanted to humiliate him in front of strangers.

Her skin was itching, energy bubbling within her to attack, but she awaited her orders. It was important to remember that Eros was in charge, lest she upset him. There was no need to take two steps backwards for half a step forward.

Alistair shoved the man forward. He staggered, but she did not move. He looked weak, pathetic, hardly a challenge. Alistair and Eros must be friends of sorts, because this was obviously a favour. Eros pressed the tip of one finger into the middle of her back, nudging her forward slightly. His claw dug into her sensitive skin, and she shivered. It hurt, and it made her hungry.

She took two steps forward, and then raised an eyebrow at him.

"Attack her Dean!" Alistair hissed, his voice like nails on a chalkboard.

She was happy that Eros did not have such a voice, his voice was more like taunting honey. His prisoners were like flies and wasps, led in by the sweet scent and then trapped within his thick out layer.

Dean did not attack, he staggered backwards like he was trying to stay away from her. She growled, and then pounced. She jumped on him and he reached up to grip her shoulders. He held her up in the air and she grinned at him, white teeth inviting him to play her game.

He was sore, sick and tired of all that Hell had to offer. She had been beautiful once, he could see it in the way her intelligent eyes followed him and in the way her hair shined with life that not even Hell could steal from her.

He could see it in the ways that when he threw her off him, she flipped in the air and landed on her feet like a graceful cat. He could see it in the way she danced around the arena, like she could hear a song no one else could, and he could see it in the way she attacked. Her movements were precise, planned five steps ahead, and she reminded him of John. The way she had a plan, dancing around him. Her hands, slim and soft, pulled at him like he was a puppet.

He felt like he was strung out, Alistair had cut his strings apart and tied them into knots, but as they fought it did not feel like she was making it worse. It felt like she was putting him together, pulling the knots out and making him new and shiny. He could feel his blood pumping, the old life of battle coming back to him. It had been so long since he could move, since he could dance and fight with all the passion his dad had taught him.

He jumped backwards and she let him, grinning at him like a cat that got the milk. They danced around each other, exchanging punches. He pounced at her, and she rolled away from him. She climbed back onto her feet, and he belly flopped onto the hard wooden floor. She laughed and he grunted. He pulled himself up to his knees, turned and pulled his shoe off. He launched it at her, and it hit her in the forehead. Her head flew back and she blinked dumbly. He smirked and tackled her. He pushed her onto the floor and pulled her knees up, propping her feet against his chest.

"You're a dirty cheat," She hissed.

"No one said anything against shoe throwing," He smirked at her.

She kicked and flipped them over.

She hovered over him and then she wrapped her hands over his throat.

There was a whistle, their master's calling them back, but neither of them were willing to stop yet. They both wanted to bleed each other out dry.

She squeezed and he reached up, yanking her hair. She hissed in pain and he choked from lack of air. She felt claws dig into her skin, pulling her away, and she felt his thick fingers wrap around her wrist. He was pulling her closer, and she saw fear shine in those green eyes. She grinned at him, a predator in her prime.

"Whose Sammy?" She asked him, and he starred at her.

He dropped her wrist and Eros yanked her away.

She screamed as claws ripped through skin but she kept eye contact. Alistair yanked him away with his hair, ever growing after over a decade in Hell.

"He's my brother!" He yelled after her.

She nodded at him, and then she was yanked through metal doors.

That night was torture for both of them, slow and punishing. The words travelled through the chambers, bouncing from his cell to hers, and she was at peace. The name had danced within her cell, seeping into her blood as Eros ripped her to shreds. Who was Sammy? Why was he so loud, so desperate in his prayers?

Sammy was his brother.

"Becky, are you with me?" Eros asked, whispered in that beautifully cruel voice.

She yanked at her chains, because she hated that boy. She hated Dean, she hated Alistair and she fucking hated Eros. He wasn't the only one sobbing for a family he'd never see again. Her sister, so tiny and sweet and needy, danced across her vision and her brother, just a baby in need of protection, and she was so close to Eros' face. She hoped her eyes burned with it, she hoped her whole being lit up with her vengeful fury. She clawed down his face, and grinned at the blood that dripped down like sweat.

Eros shook his head sadly.

"And you were so close," He sighed.

He began to scrape the rusty blades down her skin and she screamed bloody murder.

"Dean, are you with me?" Alistair hissed, his voice not unlike the rusty hooks buried in his rough skin.

Dean didn't say anything, just spat in his face.

He should've asked her name, screamed for her to tell him everything she could. He didn't know anything about her, and she was the first (hopefully) human contact he'd had in years. Then he heard her voice, soft and sweet, as she screamed bloody murder. She did not scream like the other, did not scream from pleasure and fear.

No, she screamed with fury and fire. She screamed at Eros with hatred, and Dean wondered how she did it. He could only fear Alistair, only hope that he was in a good mood today.

"So tell me Dean, are we ready to get off the rack today?" He asked.

Dean felt a passion in his gut he hadn't felt for a very long time, and he spat in his face again.

"Fuck you, demon scum." He growled.

Alistair sighed, and then began to slice.

It was going to be another long decade.


End file.
